Snow and Stark
by Estella May
Summary: A day in the life of Jon and Robb, in the eighth year of summer. Jon POV. Written for Yuletide 2009.


The day dawned, unusually chilly. Within the tiny sliver of courtyard framed by his window, Jon could see men bundled in furs stamping their feet to stay warm, their breath misting in the morning air. Curious, he touched his fingers to the glass, and quickly withdrew as the warmth started to bleed out of his body.

How very strange, he thought, for a summer's day. It was the eighth year of summer, and he had already forgotten what winter was like.

Inside, the maester's study was still warm as ever. Maester Luwin dozed silently in his chair, seemingly oblivious to the two boys seated in front of him. Haphazardly placed stacks of books and parchment littered the room, casting strange shadows that flickered in the firelight. When he was younger and had a more active imagination, Jon had almost been frightened of them. Now, his eyes simply slid over them as he turned around to see how Robb was faring.

His brother chewed on his quill and fidgeted, his brow furrowed as he attempted to hack his way through one of the maester's more onerous creations. Robb probably wished that he had the use of a sword right now, not that it would do him any good. The art of sums, as re-imagined by their maester, seemed more like a sinuous, ever-changing knot that required deep thought and careful introspection. Qualities somewhat foreign to a Stark, Jon thought with a rueful smile, along with the ability to sit still.

It had taken him some effort to solve the problem, and he couldn't help but feel a bit proud for beating Robb at sums yet again. He was glad as well, for there were so many other things to think about - his assured pummeling of Robb later this day on the training grounds, the hot pies baking in the kitchens, his little sister Arya's smiles.

Beside him, Robb ripped up his parchment and started anew.

Jon sighed, eyed the maester to make sure it was safe, and scribbled down a few choice hints on a piece of parchment before sliding it over to Robb.

Several minutes later, Robb's whoop of joy almost jolted Maester Luwin out of his chair.

"I take it that you are finished?" he asked, all smiles.

Robb nodded eagerly and slid his parchment across the table.

Maester Luwin leaned over and examined it closely. "I see...yes, very good. I will let your lady mother know that you have done well today." He then glanced over at Jon's parchment and added, "And you too, Snow."

Jon had an inkling that Lady Catelyn would most likely not be hearing about his progress.

"May we go?" asked Robb.

"Yes, you may go," the maester nodded.

"Thanks for the help," he said as soon as the door closed behind him. "But don't expect me to cut you any slack on the training grounds today in return."

"I wouldn't dream of it." Jon grinned. "Not that I'd need it."

Robb laughed and rubbed his forehead with a calloused hand. "And that was definitely one of the worst ways to spend the morning. I can feel a headache settling in already."

"And we both know what the best cure for a headache is."

"Pie, of course! Race you down to the kitchens?"

Any cautionary thoughts he might have about what Catelyn would say if she caught them racing in the castle again disappeared as soon as he saw Robb's eager smile.

Their footsteps rang and echoed through the stone hallways as they ran downstairs, dodging serving girls along the way. Robb beat him to the first turn, but he caught up before they reached the second bend. They both narrowly missed running over Septa Mordane as they turned another corner.

Jon laughed out loud as they raced down a flight of stairs. He felt like the wind, with all of Winterfell flying past him.

In the end, Robb narrowly beat him to the kitchen's back door and per their usual agreement, the loser had to go inside and get the pies by hook or crook. Jon sighed and tightened his belt. It was so much the easier for Robb, who simply had to waltz in and smile at a serving girl.

The kitchen smelled of warm dough, Dornish spices, and apples from the Reach. He spotted the head cook placing out rows of apple pies to cool and quickly looked around for a diversion.

Five minutes later, he came flying out. "What happened?" asked Robb.

Jon laughed. "The head cook threw me out after I tried to talk to his daughter."

"But did you get the pie?"

"Naturally." He smiled and held out the pie he had hidden in his bag amongst his parchment and quills.

"Excellent! Shall we go outside?"

Jon had a brief vision of hot apple pie on a cold, almost wintry day. "That'd be wonderful," he replied, reminding himself to save Arya a piece for later. "After you, Ser Robb."

"Ser Robb the Valiant," he corrected.

"After your performance earlier today, perhaps we should rather call you Ser Robb the Stumped."

Robb grimaced. "Maester Luwin knows I lack the abilities to solve his more fiendish problems, yet he doesn't ever let up."

"I agree, he does know," said Jon, "and he also knows in which direction he wants you to develop."

"I intend to develop in many directions, but not the one Maester Luwin has in mind. Let the maesters in their towers wrestle with the greater questions of the mind. I will have more practical matters to deal with."

Jon smiled and did not reply. There was no arguing with Robb when he had decided on a course of action. For his part, he was actually rather fond of the maester's questions. There was a rare, elusive beauty to them, almost as if they were suffused in magic.

The training grounds were deserted this early in the morning, which suited them perfectly well. Jon laughed and watched while Robb leapt and twirled around, a wooden sword in one hand and a piece of pie in the other.

"I'm Prince Aemon the Dragonknight!" Robb called out as he threw his sword in the air and caught it.

Jon swallowed another bite of pie and asked, "I don't know, was the Dragonknight particularly fond of pie?"

"Hmm, I suppose not. What a pity." He did a little pirouette and slashed at an invisible enemy with his sword. "I think I shall be Ser Arthur Dayne instead then. Father said once before that he was a great friend of pie."

"A friend to pie is a friend to all," Jon declared.

"That's the truth," replied Robb. "And who shall you be?"

"Another great defender of pie," Jon laughed. "The Lord of Winterfell!"

"What did you say?" asked a voice, soft and deadly.

Jon turned around and felt his high spirits immediately sink as he came face to face with Catelyn. The Lady of Winterfell stepped out onto the training grounds, cloaked in blue. "Do not make me repeat myself, bastard," she spat. "What were you saying to my son?"

"Mother, we were just joking around…" Robb started to say, before his mother cut him off.

"Septa Mordane informed me that you two were running in the castle again. Is this true?"

Robb sighed and hung his head. "Yes, Mother."

"Despite my repeated warnings not to? What do you have to say for yourself, Robb? Was this _his_ idea?"

"No, it was mine."

Catelyn simply ignored him and directed her wrath again at Jon. "So after I had to leave off going over accounts with Ser Rodrik because of your foolishness, what do I happen to hear? The bastard proclaiming himself Lord of Winterfell? Or do my ears deceive me?"

Her eyes narrowed as she fixed him with a cold, blue stare. Yet Jon knew that she saw not him but instead his Stark features and coloring, an ever-constant reminder of her husband's infidelity, the threat he might pose to her own trueborn sons. He bit back excuses that he knew to be useless. "No, my lady," he sighed.

Catelyn took a few steps forward. Despite his growth over the past year, she still towered over him. "I thought that this was obvious," she said in the softest of tones, "but it appears that I was mistaken. While I am forced to suffer your presence under my roof and at my table, may the Seven save you if I ever find you plotting to steal what is rightfully Robb's. Do I make myself clear?"

Jon forced himself to stand upright and look her straight in the eye. "It was just child's play, my lady. I never wanted it."

It was a lie, of course. He wanted it. He wanted it more than anything in the world, more than life itself, and she knew that. But Catelyn simply stiffened and said, "See that you don't." She then turned to her son and said, "Come with me, Robb. It's about time you learned to look after our accounts."

Under his mother's eye, even Robb did not dare show him any sympathy. They walked back inside, leaving Jon alone on the training grounds.

He shivered a little. It had started to snow.

The snow was a few inches deep hours later when Robb found him ensconced amongst the rubble at the base of the broken tower. He did not say anything, but simply tossed him a warm, fur-lined coat, for which Jon was grateful. They sat together on the stones, watching the snow fall.

"You didn't show up for training today," Robb said, about half an hour later.

"I had a few things on my mind."

"Such as?"

"What will become of me after your sisters marry the lords of other great houses and go south, when you become the Lord of Winterfell with Bran and Rickon as your bannermen, when I no longer have Father to protect me."

Robb turned and looked him in the eye. "You will always be welcome at Winterfell," he said.

"Your mother would beg to disagree."

Robb sighed and did not reply.

And they sat in silence again, watching either the snow or nothing in particular, until their visitor came.

"Jon?" asked their father. "Are you there?"

Both Jon and Robb scrambled to stand up. "And Robb too." Ned laughed.

"I'm staying, Father," said Robb in a determined voice.

"Very well." He climbed up and sat down next to his sons. "Sit down."

Jon remained standing. He could feel all the rage and frustration of the last few hours building up to his breaking point, nearly driving him mad. And yet his fire was tamped down as he took in the sight of Ned and Robb before him, both father and son as calm and immovable as Winterfell itself. _I am a Stark too_, he thought bitterly, _or am I?_

He sighed and sat down.

"The first of the late summer snow," Ned observed.

"It's beautiful," said Robb.

Jon said nothing. He could feel his father's eyes on him, eyes that, like Catelyn's, seemed to see not him but rather someone else. Jon wondered who that could be. His mother, maybe? He had always been afraid to ask, since whoever it was, they always seemed to make Ned sad.

"As beautiful and deadly as winter itself," said Ned. "Now Jon, would you mind telling me why you have been freezing all day outside and refusing your meals?"

"I had thought to stop inflicting Lady Catelyn with my presence under her roof and at her table for a while. And to show her that I learned my lesson that a bastard cannot claim to be Lord of Winterfell, even in jest." It was petty, he knew, but he was also beyond caring.

Ned laid a hand on his shoulder. "A bastard who acts with honor and integrity is worth ten trueborn sons who do not. And those who do not see this are willfully blind."

"I have always tried to act in a way that is worthy of you, Father," said Jon.

Ned smiled. "I know. And soon, I fear, we will all be tested. I hear tales of men of the Night's Watch lost in rangings and Mance Rayder moving again beyond the Wall. It has been a long summer, but winter is coming at last."


End file.
